The world snapped back.
The first thing I sensed was heat. A hand, warm and trembling, clutching mine.
I opened my eyes. The canopy was a blur. The air tasted of stale wax and bitter herbs.
"She is waking," a whisper scratched against the silence. Adel.
"My Aurelia?"
The voice broke. It was my mother.
I turned my head, the movement sending a spike of pain through my skull. She was sitting right there, on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were red, the skin beneath them bruised with exhaustion. Behind her, Adel and Lady Octavi hovered, their shoulders tight with fear.
I knew that look. They were waiting for me. The girl who needed to be held.
For a terrifying second, my instincts took over. A warmth rose in my chest, and a delighted, tearful emotion almost broke onto my lips. I should squeeze her hand, I thought. I should tell her I'm okay.
My throat tightened. A sob pushed against my ribs, desperate to get out.
Wait.
I stopped myself.
If I hug her now, I will be the Victim. If I cry, I am the girl who let the Orphanage burn because she was too soft to act.
I have to stop this, I told myself. How do I stop a sob? How do I kill a feeling?
'You bleed for the world to see. I bleed in the dark.'
Her voice echoed in my mind. The Original Aurelia.
Bleed in the dark, I repeated. Can I do that? Can I really look at my mother and feel nothing?
I swallowed the sob. It felt unnatural. Like swallowing a stone.
I pulled my hand away from my mother's grip and tucked it under the sheets.
"Water," I said.
Adel was there in an instant. I drank, not for thirst, but to wash away the urge to cry out.
"Aurelia, my darling," Mother said, her voice trembling. "You frightened us. I had Sofia dragged from her quarters… she said your body couldn't handle the tension."
She leaned in, her eyes searching mine.
"She said it is just the illness… the fatigue," Mother whispered. "That is why you are like this, isn't it?"
I looked at the desperate hope in her eyes. It hurt more than the headache.
I have to crush that hope, I thought. For her sake. For the House.
"The illness," I said, my voice sounding flat and otherworldly to my own ears, "was my mistake. I allowed my weakness to show in the Court. It will not happen again."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
I could feel my mother's horror. It radiated off her. She wasn't looking at a daughter recovering; her face looked like the first time I saw her, seven years ago, when I first woke up without memories. She was looking at a stranger.
I'm hurting her, I realized, a wave of guilt washing over me. Is this really necessary? Is there no other way?
No. Fate is watching. I have to do this.
"My darling?" she whispered. "We… we aren't blaming you for being ill. You don't need to—"
"I know," I cut her off. "That is why we move forward."
I couldn't look at her anymore. If I did, I would shatter. I snapped my gaze to the tent flap; outside was bright, the sun high. Then to Adel.
"How long?" I demanded.
Adel flinched. "My Lady?"
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"Three days," she whispered. "You… you have been burning with fever for three days."
Three days. I had lost three days.
"And Fabian?" I asked. "Has he returned?"
"They are expected within the hour, My Lady," Octavi answered, stepping into my line of sight. "The horns sounded at dawn. The Closing Ceremony is at midday."
Midday.
"Good," I said, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. "Then I am not late."
The floor was cold against my bare feet. A wave of black spots danced across my vision. I grabbed the bedpost, digging my nails in until they threatened to break, forcing the world to stop spinning.
I straightened my spine.
"Prepare the tight-fitting dress," I commanded. "The one-piece I wore to the Arch-Treasury."
Adel's eyes widened. "My Lady? That dress… it is from your mother's old collection. It is extremely tight-fitting. You have been in bed for three days; it will be suffocating."
"I don't care about comfort," I snapped, meeting her eyes. "Just follow orders. Simple. If I am not present when Fabian returns, the Court will smell blood. They will think the betrothal is frail."
Adel looked at me, searching for her—the kind girl she served. She seemed not to find her. She lowered her head, a hint of hurt crossing her face.
"As you wish."
She turned to the wardrobe.
I looked back at my mother. She hadn't moved. She was staring at me, her red eyes wide.
She recognized it.
"Aurelia…" she whispered, her voice cracking. "You… you don't have to do this. You don't have to be… this."
"I am being what is required, Mother," I replied coldly.
My mother flinched. She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to plead with me, but the words seemed to die in her throat.
She slowly stood up, smoothing her dress with trembling hands. She didn't say anything more. She just looked at me with a profound, silent grief.
"I will… inform Sofia you are awake," she whispered.
She turned and walked to the flap. She didn't look back.
I watched my mother leave. The air in the room shifted. I was alone in the center of Adel and Octavi.
Adel started to dress me. Silence was our only accompaniment.
As she finished, I looked at the mirror. I saw the reflection of what I wanted to be: my own mother. Cold. Perfect. Untouchable.
"Adel," I said. Keep the voice steady. Low.
"Yes, My Lady?"
"Is there any news going around in the encampment?" I asked.
"Rumors are a wildfire in a dry forest, My Lady," she replied, her voice low. "Your illness at the feast… The Queen has been spinning it."
She tightened the final clasp.
"She implies your absence is a lack of physique. She has been holding court in the Viewing Pavilion for three days, accepting sympathies on behalf of her 'poor, sickly future daughter-in-law'. She is painting you as a burden, My Lady. A tragic, dying girl who cannot support the Crown Prince."
Support the Crown Prince…
I need to show them the meaning of supporting the Crown Prince.
"And Lady Anna?" I asked.
Adel opened her mouth to answer, but Lady Octavi cut in, her voice grim.
"She is nowhere to be found, My Lady."
"Explain."
"Her tent is empty," Octavi reported. "She was seen leaving the perimeter before dawn, heading toward the tree line. She has not returned. The Royal Guards are searching quietly, but she has vanished."
In the mirror, I saw Adel and Octavi exchange a sharp, worried look.
"About the Book," Adel whispered. "If she is in the woods while the Prince is hunting… she is forcing the plot, My Lady. She intends to be the Damsel he finds."
"This time, the Main Character's role is Lady Anna. We must find a solution," Octavi said, stepping forward.
"Let her have it then," I said coldly.
"My Lady?" Octavi blinked, confused. "But she is interfering with the Hunt and trying to use the plot against you. She is—"
"Irrelevant," I cut her off.
…
I stepped out into the blinding midday sun.
The clearing was buzzing with noise. I walked straight down the center path toward the Main Viewing Pavilion.
I reached the entrance. The heavy flaps were pulled back. Inside, the air smelled of perfumed wax and spiced wine. The ladies of the Court were seated in clusters, their voices a low hum of gossip.
I stepped inside.
The chatter died instantly. It started from the entrance and rippled forward like a wave of silence until the entire pavilion was quiet. Heads turned. Teacups froze halfway to mouths.
I could hear their thoughts. Is she dying? Is she weak? Is she finished?
I ignored them all. I glanced around the room and my eyes landed on a familiar table near the front.
Lady Clara sat there, looking like a porcelain doll in pink. Beside her sat Lady Hillaria, looking utterly miserable in a stiff blue gown.
I walked toward them. Clara saw me coming. Her smile widened in a second.
"Lady Aurelia!" Clara called out, her voice loud enough to draw attention. "Oh, thank the Goddess! We were so worried!"
I reached the table. Adel pulled out the empty chair. I sat down, my back straight, refusing to touch the backrest.
"Lady Clara," I said, my voice low. "Lady Hillaria."
"We saw you were coughing blood," Hillaria said bluntly. "You look like a corpse that decided to walk."
"Lady Hillaria!" Clara hissed.
"It is quite alright," I said smoothly. "Honesty is refreshing in a room full of false pleasantries. I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I am perfectly fine."
Clara leaned in and flashed her smile. "We were praying for you. With the Crown Prince hunting alone… it is a dangerous time for all of us."
Suddenly, she leaned back, a glint of worry in her eyes. "Poor Lady Anna, so distraught."
She trailed off, watching my reaction. She was baiting me.
"Distraught?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is she? I haven't seen her since the feast."
"Oh, she has been so devoted in her tent," Clara lied. "And now she is missing. She vanished before dawn." She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. "One might think she went to wish the Crown Prince luck personally. In the woods."
I took a slow sip of tea. I set the cup down without a sound.
"Is that so?" I asked, sounding bored. "Well, the woods are vast. I am sure she will find… whatever she is looking for."
Clara blinked. "However…" Clara leaned in, lowering her voice. "What if the Crown Prince finds her? Alone? In the wild?"
She tried to paint the picture for me. The romance. The scandal. The crowd.
I looked at Clara, then let my gaze drift to the open treeline.
"Then he finds her," I said simply.
"You… you do not care?" Clara gasped.
"Why would I?" I asked, turning my cold, ocean-blue eyes back to her.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my chin on my hand, staring right into her soul.
"You were the one who named me the Wicked Witch, didn't you, Lady Clara?" I said softly. "Do you remember? You said the crowd cheers when the Witch burns."
I saw her flinch. She was scared.
"I decided to listen to you," I continued. "And you are right. A Wicked Witch does not weep over lost princes or found damsels. She does not care about the Fairytale."
I picked up a small cake, inspecting it as if it were more interesting than the conversation.
"In the end, this Witch sits on her throne," I said, rotating the cake, "and rules over these Damsels."
I took a bite of the cake.
"If he returns with the White Stag, he is a King in the making," I said smoothly, chewing slowly. "If he returns with a girl… or you can say Damsel… well, then he is merely a man who got distracted by a shiny object."
The table went silent. Clara's sugary smile had vanished entirely. She looked at me with a sudden, sharp fear. She realized it.
"The fever burned away more than just your strength, didn't it, My Lady?" Clara whispered.